Scars, Tales and Recollections
by Nuin'arien
Summary: The Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen cannot find sleep one warm summer night. What will they do to pass the time?


**Disclaimer:** All are attributed to the genius of Professor Tolkien. Only the concept of the situation is claimed by the ffic author.

Have a good read!

-Nuingaríen

* * *

In fair Ithilien, Garden of Gondor, all was still and silent, not a living thing can be heard—it was as if all held their breath in an effort to conserve energy and keep cool in the warm summer night. However, in the Prince's home in Emyn Arnen, the situation was different. The Lord lay abed with his wife but sleep was far from them as the Lady tossed and turned in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position. Faramir rose to fling open the large windows, momentarily stirring an artificial breeze in their chamber. He returned to the large bed with an oversized fan in hand. He fluttered it at his wife who smiled at him gratefully.

"I am sorry, beloved. Would that I could do something to ease your discomfort."

"'Tis nothing, it will get better soon—I hope." Éowyn replied.

She was carrying her first child and was awakened almost every night by its movements. Tonight was no exception and the weather was not helping to ease her burden. She sighed. Faramir lifted his wife's heavy golden tresses away from her neck, continually waving the fan to and fro.

"Faramir, would you tell me a story?"

He was taken unawares by her request which was one of the things he dearly loved about his wife—she never ceased to surprise him.

"With pleasure, beloved. What tale would you have me impart?"

Éowyn turned over so they were face to face. She looked at her husband for a moment to consider this. Her eyes traveled down to consider her husband's form. His nightshirt was unlaced at the neck, falling open to reveal his pale throat in the moonlight. Éowyn raised her hand and slipped it under his shirt at the neck. Faramir's breath hitched as her cold hand made contact with his flesh. Éowyn caressed her husband's shoulder, pulling aside his shirt to reveal a jagged scar that marred the smooth skin. She leaned forward to kiss the mark.

"Tell me about this."

Faramir couldn't help but chuckle at his wife's actions.

"You know the story, Éowyn. I was felled by a Southron dart, that is all."

Éowyn was not to be dissuaded. She yanked at his shirt, tugging it over his head this time. Faramir rolled away to pull it off and toss it aside. He lay back beside her.

"Is that better?"

Éowyn eyes his naked torso appreciatively.

"Aye, my lord. Much better."

She traced small patterns across his firm abdomen and let her hand wander to another, fainter scar near his hip.

"Tell me about this one."

"As my lady commands." He said regally. Éowyn giggled in amusement.

"I received this when I was about nine years of age. I was with my brother exploring through the forests of Ithilien. We came upon a small copse of trees with slender saplings. Boromir and I were overcome by the idea of using the trees as a sort of catapult for they were very flexible. Smart lads that we were, we gave no thought as to how the welfare of the saplings might suffer."

Éowyn smiled at the image of her gentle and thoughtful husband so overcome with excitement at the discovery of a new game that all other considerations were forgotten.

"We each chose a young tree and climbed into the uppermost branches, our weight bending it down nearly in half. When it could go no further, we would hang onto a branch with both hands and kick hard upon the earth, springing up and over the sapling onto the other side."

Éowyn laughed.

"That must have been very fun."

"It was a most exhilarating activity."

Faramir smiled fondly at the memory.

"I believe I'll teach our children that game—provided that appropriate trees are engaged."

Éowyn laughed again and said in mock severity, "My lord, you received a wound from that activity!"

"Not through a fault of mine, my lady!" Faramir replied in kind. "It was my beloved _older_ brother who had the excellent idea of jumping a tree _together_. At first I protested, claiming that our combined weight will break the tree. Boromir insisted that it would not and I finally agreed. Truth be told, I wanted to try it as well. Mayhap you can already imagine what followed. We climbed, kicked, and as we were at the highest point of our flight, the branch snapped, and then we _really flew_. Being lighter than my brother, I was thrown farther. I rolled downhill a small ways and scraped my side. The wound was indeed larger but only the deepest part left the scar which you now see."

Éowyn leaned down and kissed the area. Faramir smiled at his wife. He loved how spontaneous she was. She touched another scar, a thin line about two inches long on his outer arm.

"How about this one?"

Faramir laughed a little sheepishly.

"Ah, my first wound from a sword—though many were still to come after. I was rather foolishly proud of it when I first received it."

Éowyn nodded with a smile. She had seen firsthand how boys and even grown men were so proud of wounds obtained through fighting.

"I was trained in weaponcraft before I was eight but did not receive my first real sword until the age of twelve. On the day I received it, one of my comrades challenged me to a duel. You are aware of how I do not believe in fighting needlessly and even then I held that conviction and would have decline. However, the allure of trying out my new weapon proved strong so I agreed. I knew though, that Father would not think too well of my fighting with a real sword which _was_ extremely sharp so my friend and I snuck out of the city where no one would be likely to see us. Some other boys our age followed to watch the duel. It was a good fight for we were more or less evenly matched. I was a little taller than my opponent but he was slightly broader. He was also a little older therefore with more fighting experience but I was faster on my feet. We had been fighting for a while with neither gaining the upper hand when the other boys started running."

Éowyn's eyebrows went up at this new development in the tale.

"Apparently my father had inquired after us and was told we had left the city. Knowing that it would have something to do with my new sword, he had come down after us. We were crossing blades in earnest when he arrived very angry. I looked away from my opponent for a moment wherefore he promptly nicked me. I was too surprised at the sight of my father that I do not remember feeling the pain. My opponent was so frightened that he had drawn blood from the Steward's son that he did not cross swords with me again, not until we were grown and both Rangers."

Éowyn thoughtfully traced the line.

"What did your father say?"

"He gave me a good scolding and a sound thrashing for using a sword when I had not had a chance to sufficiently train with it but he was angrier over the fact that I had looked away from my opponent. He said that I was never to be distracted when fighting—no matter what. It was a good lesson and excellent advice; one that has saved many a life."

"Your father was a wise man."

"That he was."

Both were silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. After a moment, Éowyn reached out with her foot and rested it against her husband's ankle, then she dragged her foot up until it rested on his leg, mid-calf. Faramir's leg twitched at the sensation.

"Tell me about this one."

She indicated a scar where her foot rested. Faramir grinned at her.

"Do you know of all my scars, my lady? You seemed to know where that one was without looking."

"I have memorized you for those times when you are not beside me."

Éowyn said in a moment of sentiment. Faramir kissed her tenderly.

"That one is from nothing significant."

Éowyn knew her husband well enough to know that a good story was assuredly connected with that old wound but his humility prevented him from sharing it. She pressed him to tell her. Faramir's arm had grown tired from waving the fan so he sat up to change his position, all without ceasing his cooling ministrations. He now sat in front of Éowyn with long limbs crossed, elbows resting against his knees. With the his dark hair tousled and the moonlight shining behind him, he looked like a younger version of himself with an added boyish charm which caused Éowyn to smile at the fact that she had married a _very_ attractive man. Faramir sighed in resignation.

"It occurred on one of the lower levels of the city. I was about fourteen at the time and had been sent down to the main gate to deliver a message from my father. Returning to the Citadel, I came across a group of young boys playing a lively game of tag in the street. My errand having been completed, I stopped to watch for a moment. I observed one boy who stood to the side, not joining in the game but looking on with a smile on his face. Imagine my amazement when upon closer inspection, I realized that he was blind. Suddenly shouts and screams interrupted the game and I gazed in horror as a horse broke free from his handler and thundered down the street straight toward the group of boys."

Éowyn gasped. She was well aware how dangerous a runaway horse could be.

"All the other boys darted out of the way quickly enough but the blind boy only had a look of confusion on his face."

"Was he harmed?" Éowyn's voice was filled with concern. Faramir shook his head.

"I ran to him and moved him out of the way but not before one of the horse's hooves caught at my leg, hence the scar. Fortunately the boy was not hurt after what he had gone through."

Éowyn captured her husband's free hand and brought it to her lips.

"My beloved, so humble that he would not even tell his own wife a tale where he figures as a hero."

Faramir blushed at her praise.

"Now it's your turn, wife."

"My turn?"

"To tell the tales of your marks."

"My scars."

"Scars connote a blemish, a disfigurement. Nothing about you can be said to be a blemish or disfigurement, Éowyn."

Oh how she loved this man!

"Well then."

Éowyn sat up before Faramir and pulled her sleeves aside, revealing smooth, slender arms that were pale in the moonlight. Faramir had to resist the urge to touch her.

"You already know of my shieldarm."

She indicated the jagged scar along her left arm where the Witchking had shattered her shield with his great mace. Faramir nodded, his eyes dark. He did not relish the image of Éowyn alone before the Lord of the Nazgul. She held her hands in front of her, spreading slender fingers and turning her hands in the moonlight. A patch of pale flesh at the junction of her forefinger and thumb contrasted with the color of the rest of her left hand.

"This one was when I tried bridling a most obstinate mare against my Uncle's wishes and my brother and cousin's warnings. I was about eight or so then and I was incensed that day, for what reason I can no longer remember. In a fit of rebellion I saddled the horse though with great difficulty as it towered above me. When I got to the bridle, the mare would move away and shake her head but I was not going to be refused so I lunged at her in an attempt to attach a lead rope. I was able to attach the rope but my hand got caught on the fastening. I was freed when the mare shook her head but not before taking some of my flesh with it."

Faramir kissed his wife's hand.

"I was very frightened when I saw the blood but was too proud to admit what had happened therefore I stole back into the Golden Hall and into my chamber. Uncle later found me after seeing the tell-tale drops of blood on the floor."

"What did he say after he found you?"

"I think he knew that I had been punished enough for my folly so he said nothing but cared for the wound himself and assured me that it would heal."

"How I desire to have met him."

"You would have liked him and he would have loved you, Faramir." Éowyn clasped her beloved's face in her hands, gazing tenderly into his grey eyes.

Éowyn leaned back onto the pillows and stretched out her slender legs, pulling her nightgown up to her knees. She lifted her foot to reveal her ankle which was slightly swollen from pregnancy. Upon a closer look, a discolored line was evident on the inner side.

"That was from racing through the plains of the Mark and stepping into a hole. I sprained my ankle of course but it was the scar that bothered me. I had always liked how my ankles looked before."

Faramir clasped her foot and kissed the said ankle.

"It still looks lovely."

Éowyn's cheeks colored prettily. At that moment the drapes began moving as a cool breeze pervaded their chambers. Both breathed deeply of the mildy flower-scented air.

"I do believe that's it." The lady said contentedly. The breeze was a much welcome addition to an already pleasant night. She sat up again and placed a hand tenderly upon her stomach.

"My lord, I do believe your child was listening intently to our tales as he has ceased to be restless."

When the Lord and Lady had first learned of their forthcoming bundle of joy, Éowyn had wished for a son that would be just like her husband. He, on the other hand had stated that he wanted a daughter that wold take after her mother. As her pregnancy advanced, Éowyn had insisted that her child is a son and had since referred to him as such.

"It was your voice that soothed him."

The thought of their child brought another to mind.

"Oh, there are these."

Éowyn unlaced her nightgown, exposing her midsection. Marks which had stretched her flesh from the growing child made its way across her lower abdomen. She sighed sadly at her marred flesh. Faramir moved closer to her.

"All the tales of your marks are noteworthy and memorable but I must admit that of all, these are my favorite."

He bent down to kiss the silvery lines on her pregnant belly.

"For they are marks that tell a wonderful story."

Éowyn was captivated by her husband's feathery light kisses upon her skin.

"And what story is that, pray tell?"

"The tale of a proud Shieldmaiden of the North who pledged herself to a man of Gondor and how their love bore fruit."

Éowyn ran her hands through Faramir's dark hair, reveling in the sight and feel of him.

"Have I told you tonight how much I love and adore you, Man of Gondor?"

Faramir wrapped strong arms around his wife's slender shoulders.

"Yea, but I would never tire of hearing you say it, Shieldmaiden."

He kissed her tenderly on the lips. Eventually man and wife slipped into a peaceful slumber, blissful in each other's love and affection as the breeze continued to blow through their chambers.

_ende_


End file.
